


Blue Skies From Pain

by Volavi



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Grayson (Comics), Midnighter (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol, But nothing happens on screen, Cooking, Dick is tired but snarky, Explicit Language, Food, M smirks a lot, M/M, Midnighter is a good not-boyfriend, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Injury, allusions to sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 12:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15863298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volavi/pseuds/Volavi
Summary: A long patrol and an old injury take their toll, and Dick just wants to return to his empty apartment and sleep. An unexpected but not unwelcome guest has other plans.





	Blue Skies From Pain

Dick disarms his security and slides in through the window. He lands on one leg and leans his head against the wall, taking a moment to just rest and breathe. Pain coils through his knee, like shards of glass are rubbing against the joint. It’s been ages since he’s had to use it, but his knee brace is around here somewhere. He freezes as he notices unexpected scents and sounds in what should be his silent, vacant apartment. Once he parses the warm, rich smell of bacon and burgundy permeating into the bedroom, along with the sounds of jazz music from his stereo, he relaxes. Only one person would have that particular combination, and be able to enter Dick's home without setting off any alarms or alerting any other bats. Dick closes the window with a small smile and rearms the security. 

Dick pulls off his mask and gloves and eases off his boots, before padding into the kitchen to greet his guest. Dick knows his guest will notice, but he still tries to walk without a limp.

Midnighter sits at the counter, a glass of red wine and a book in front of him. But he turns to fully face Dick as he enters the room, one eyebrow raised as he studies Dick, smirking. He leans back against the granite and crosses his arms. "Aren’t you a sore sight for my eyes?” he drawls.

"I think you got that saying wrong.”

“I said exactly what I meant.” The smirk lingers around Midnighter’s mouth, but his eyes glint with calculations. 

Damn computer.

Dick glances around the kitchen. Nothing on the stove top, and the oven is on. No dishes are out, so M must have already cleaned up after himself. No clues to the identity of whatever smelled so good. 

Dick slides onto the stool next to M and grins at him. “Do you have any more of that wine?”

“Old or new?”

“I don’t care. I’m not a wine snob, despite Alfred’s influence.”

“I meant the knee. Old or new injury?”

Dick stifles a sigh and reaches out to run a thumb down the side of Midnighter’s jaw. It doesn’t matter how often or when Dick sees him - he always has that perfect, sexy three-day stubble. “Old. It’s fine. Now let’s talk about something more interesting.” His hand slips down M’s neck, ends on his shoulder. He leans in for a kiss, tilting his head invitingly, tugging just a bit to bring M closer.

Midnighter huffs but allows himself to be pulled in, returning the kiss with fierce, possessive interest. But Dick’s not surprised that M is the one to break the kiss, straightening with a slight frown.

“No wine for you until I decide whether or not you’re getting painkillers tonight.”

That brings a flash of anger to the surface. “You decide? Really? Pretty sure fuck buddies don’t get to make that call.” 

M’s brows knit into a scowl, and for a second Dick thinks M is going to argue, before the mask drops back down. “Ah, but I cooked for you. I was going to treat you to a nice meal first. Surely that allows me to ascertain for myself that you’re in the right kind of condition for what I had in mind?”

Dick pauses, thinking for a moment, then slips off the stool and raises his arms like he's about to get patted down, and does a slow twirl. He knows that Midnighter's computer is analyzing him for any signs of injury, old or new. Once, that would have been to use against him in a fight. Now, it might still be used against him, but it’s a different kind of battle they’re engaged in.

"No blood, at least."

“Ah, implying that I’m bad at my job - an excellent way to ensure the night goes your way,” Dick teases.

“Not implying anything - just confirming that you’re up for my plans.”

“Unless your plans start with serving me whatever smells so delicious, I’m not interested.”

“That is coq au vin and it still needs another half hour or so. Time for you to shower. Slip into something more comfortable.”

“Getting me undressed is your theme every time we get together. A Russian sauna comes to mind. But I think I will shower. Care to join me?” Dick quirks an eyebrow, 

M looks genuinely regretful. “I would, but I have to finish a couple of things.”

Dick stifles a yawn - a yawn that is definitely not sexy - and bends down to give the still-seated M a quick kiss. It’s a different angle than usual, and Dick likes it, enough to deepen the kiss and languidly lick into M’s mouth. 

When Dick pulls away, M smirks up at him. “Enjoyed that, did you? For once, you got to be the tall one.”

“You’re snarky for someone who wants to get lucky.”

“And you’re stinky for someone with the same goal. Go on, get cleaned up.”

Dick knows that M will never let him have the last word gracefully, so he sticks his tongue out, says “Rather presumptuous of you,” and turns and heads to the bathroom.

“Presumptuous? Isn’t that a big word for a circus kid?” Midnighter calls after him.

Dick flips him off and keeps walking.

“Brat,” M says, but he sounds fond in a way that he would never would allow himself to sound to Dick’s face.

When Dick gets out of the shower and returns to the kitchen dressed in comfortable dorm pants - not bothering with a shirt - M has the table set, with a Dutch oven, baguette and salad already set out in the middle. Midnighter pulls a chair out for Dick with a sardonic grin and ironic bow. Dick admires how he’s able to communicate both mocking humor at the romantic gesture and yet still imply that, on some level, he means it.

Dick gives M a crooked smile that morphs into one of confusion when M pulls out a second chair next to Dick, not the one at the other place setting. 

“For your knee.” M dares Dick to protest with a twitch of his eyebrows as he produces an ice pack from somewhere. 

Dick rolls his eyes but takes the ice and eases his leg onto the chair. “Let me guess. You just want to make sure that I’m not sore later.”

“Something like that,” M says as he sits opposite Dick. “Go ahead, serve yourself.”

Dick does as instructed. “This smells amazing, M. You really didn’t have to cook for me.” He takes a bite and it’s just as delicious as it smelled, rich and comforting. 

“I wanted to.”

Conversation pauses as Dick devotes most of his attention to eating. Bacon, mushrooms, wine, onions and chicken so soft it falls off the bone. When he’s nearly done he looks back up at Midnighter and smiles. 

“So does the computer in your brain help you cook? Does it have recipes loaded? Or do you have to look them up like us normal folks?”

M just growls at Dick. Dick laughs. “I bet you watch Food Network in your underwear.”

Something flickers in Midnighter’s eyes as he mutters, “I do not.”

“Oh my god. You do. I can tell.” Dick chuckles. “This is the best day ever.”

“You just go ahead and laugh, Grayson. See what that gets you.”

Dick takes another bite before answering. “I’ve got an amazing dinner. I don’t need anything else to be happy.”

“That’s because your standards are way too low.”

“I’m about to invite you to my bed.”

“As I said.”

“Don’t be such a grump. Come here.” One corner of Midnighter’s mouth quirks up in a wry, mocking smile, but he obliges. Dick puts his arms in the air. “Pick me up and take me to bed.”

Midnighter scoops Dick up in his arms. “As my princess commands,” he snarks. But again, he manages to simultaneously sound like he means it even as the derision curls around his tongue. 

Dick rests his head against M’s chest. His knee throbs with dull pulses, and it’s just as well he didn’t have any wine with dinner because he’s sure he’d have fallen asleep. They are almost certainly heading to bed to do nothing more energetic than cuddling. Tomorrow, he’ll wake up and the bed will be empty. 

And yet. “Told you. Best day ever.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to geckoholic for the beta. This was a from a tumblr prompt from ravenwolf36.
> 
> You can find my tumblr [here](https://volaviwrites.tumblr.com/)


End file.
